


Put Out The Cheese

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gay Bashing, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor, Murder Husbands, Really minor character death, Steter Week 2019, stiles is something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 01:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: Peter also sets up extra-special dates. It’s not on any routine schedule, often enough so it’s not a shock, but still a pleasant surprise that it’s going to be one of those weekends.





	Put Out The Cheese

Peter is the best boyfriend ever. He really is. He’s always patient and he’s never overbearing. Well, not too overbearing, he is a werewolf after all, and some things are just facts. He wasn’t worried when Stiles went to college and visited him a lot, getting them a small apartment to share. Because dorms stink, also a fact.

Now that Stiles is out of college and has his degree in folklore and mythology and his training as an emissary, he and Peter get to truly be full partners in everything.

And as the best boyfriend, Peter takes Stiles on lots of dates, just like every other boyfriend would do. Movies, dinners, concerts, whatever might be interesting to both of them. Sometimes, whatever’s interesting to just one of them, because compromise, right?

Peter also sets up extra-special dates. It’s not on any routine schedule, often enough so it’s not a shock, but still a pleasant surprise that it’s going to be one of those weekends.

This time they’re back in San Francisco, a few hours’ south from Beacon Hills. They start with an early afternoon Bay Cruise because Stiles loves any time on the water. There’s lunch wandering in Fisherman’s Wharf, too touristy for Peter, but Stiles **_has to_** have clam chowder in a bread bowl. They spend the afternoon in bookstores and coffee shops along with some shopping and bars in The Castro.

Evening is another delicious dinner, location picked by Peter. Special dinners aren’t necessarily a high-end restaurant. Peter always knows the hole-in-the-wall places where the food is excellent and not overcrowded with anyone snobbier than he is. Someplace where Stiles can gorge himself on hot, buttered sourdough and Peter can work his way through a bottle of a nice red.

Tonight, after dinner, they do their usual walk. There’s so much to see in The City and while they’ve spent some time here, there’s always new neighborhoods and things to explore.

“We can taxi to the car if you’d like, darling, I think I’ve kept you on your feet far too long,” Peter says, nuzzling into Stiles’ temple as they walk. They’re in a not-too-nice neighborhood, fewer shops and restaurants and more homeless people. Stiles always presses a couple of dollars into their hands, muttering something too quiet for even Peter to hear. That’s fine, it’s between them and the gods.

“I’m good, I like the walk, Peter.”

They pass a bar, with three young men leaning against the wall, sharing a cigarette, the smell of pot and beer hanging around them. “Faggots.”

Stiles glances at Peter, and moves slightly closer, being sure he’s tucked under the wolf’s arm. “Car close?”

Peter nods, glaring at the men. “Yes. Let’s cross here, love.”

“Lookit those goddamn faggots,” one of the men says, pushing away from the building as Peter and Stiles head across the street.

“Makes me sick.” The three stay together, keeping a few yards back, but within easy ear shot.

There’s a bit more trash talk from the men behind them, and Peter makes a quick turn down an alley. “Short cut to the car.”

Stiles tries to see in the dark, but of course Peter’s eyesight is better and he knows where they’re going. “If you’re sure…”

But this alley doesn’t go through, it’s a dead end. And when they turn around, the three smiling men are blocking the exit.

“Well, well, well,” the blondest one says, stifling a burp as he rubs a fist into his other palm. “Looks like the queers got lost.”

The biggest of them has a shaved head and from the stubble pattern, done to hide male-pattern baldness. “Looks like you need a reminder to stay on Castro or somethin’, faggots.”

“Or something,” Stiles says quietly. He drops Peter’s hand and raises both of his, shutting his eyes as he chants under his breath.

Peter can smell the panic on the three as they realize they can’t move. Completely frozen, other than the ability to move their eyes trying to see each other. They make little grunt noises of fear or surprise - it’s hard to tell if it’s one or both.

“Preference, darling?” Peter asks, taking Stiles’ hand again, as they approach the men. He shifts to his beta form, showing a smile full of long, sharp fangs.

The mage turns to his mate, cupping his face with a soft hand. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers, deeply kissing the wolf, mindless of the teeth that cut his lips and tongue.

Stiles pulls away, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He shuts his eyes, touching his mouth and the cuts heal almost as fast as a wolf’s would. “I like blondie here, what do you think?”

“Hitler’s wet dream it is.” Peter pulls him slightly away from the others, making sure he doesn’t fall, not yet.

“Oh god, must you?” Stiles stares at the third man, wrinkling his nose. “Do they always piss themselves?”

“Malfoy here must have used the toilet before he went out to beat on his fellow man.” Peter points to a dumpster pushed against the alley wall. “Supplies are over there, love.”

“Excellent!” Stiles grabs a backpack and pulls out a couple of plastic containers. “You are the best boyfriend ever. So wanna get on with it? Long drive ahead of us.”

“Patience darling, it’s under control. Now, unless you want arterial blood spray, step back.” That’s all the warning Stiles gets before Peter uses his claws and rips through the man’s throat. As promised, the blood jets out, splashing against the brick wall.

Stiles walks over to the two other men, raising an eyebrow. “Probably not what you were planning for the night, is it?” He looks at the third man, with short, dark hair and fairly attractive stubble. “Bet your grand plan was getting drunk and getting lucky or if not, beating someone up?” He turns to Peter and groans. “Oh my god, this one pooped! That’s so gross, Peter! Why do we always get one who’s a pooper?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” He’s got the blond man on the ground and uses a claw to rip open his shirt. “Got your Tupperware, love?” he asks, not waiting for the answer as he tears through his chest. “Heart, heart, who has a heart? Here you are!”

Stiles holds out a container, eyes glowing white as Peter dumps the warm organ into the plastic box. He nods and runs his finger around the seal, smiling as there’s a faint light. “This one is ready to go. Have the liver?”

Peter pulls something else out of the body on the ground, taking a little bite before he lays it in the next container. “You should seriously consider making some changes to your lives,” he says to the two men, who are still frozen, whimpering with their eyes wide. “Your friend did not have a healthy liver, tasted awful.”

“Gods, Peter, you don’t need to eat everyone,” Stiles snorts, repeating his earlier gestures with this container. “We just had dinner.” He puts both containers into the back pack and zips up that pocket and then pulls a container of wet-wipes out of another pocket. He hands them to Peter and sighs. “You know, I’ve had The Immigrant Song stuck in my head for like a week.”

“We come from the land of the ice and snow, grab your knife and come on, let’s go.”

“Jackass,” Stiles answers, smiling and he kisses Peter’s temple as he passes going towards the two men who are still under his spell, unable to move. “So gentlemen. What to do, what to do…” He paces in front of them a few times, back and forth, watching them watch him. “You know, some people think that gay bashers are actually closeted homosexuals, but I think that’s crap. For the actual reason why you’re such assholes, I don’t think it’s your internal turmoil about your sexuality and frankly, I don’t care. I don’t want you in our club anyway. But, I think people should know about you.” He pulls out a small knife, and runs his thumb down the blade, looking from one to the other.

“Now who’s dilly-dallying. Not to push, love, but I’d like to leave soon,” Peter says, checking his watch.

“Sorry.” Stiles steps towards the man who has more hair and uses his knife to cut down the front of his t-shirt. “Don’t move, okay? Oh right, you can’t.” He starts to cut into the man’s chest, talking as he works. “You can explain this however you’d like, I think it’ll be around for a while.” He backs up, wiping the blade on his pants leg looking at GAY BASHER carved on the man’s chest. “I dunno, Wolf, what do you think? It’s kind of bland, I wish it had more punch.”

“The application speaks as much as the words.” Peter picks up the backpack and gestures towards the entrance to the alley. “Shall we?”

Nodding, Stiles takes Peter’s hand. They don’t turn around, but can hear the two bodies thump to the ground when Stiles waves a hand over his shoulder, unfreezing them.

Peter raises their joined hands, kissing his mate’s knuckles. “They okay?”

Stiles snorts, squeezing Peter’s hand. “I’m sure okay is relative in this situation. They’re not dead,” he says, shrugging.

They walk quietly and when they get to their car, Stiles carefully adds in the ice packs they prepared earlier and stores the backpack in the trunk, being sure to completely strap it down. “Peter, do you ever feel bad about this stuff?”

“Bad? Like guilt? For getting what we need? You need supplies and sometimes…well, sometimes I need to let off a little steam.” Peter thinks for a moment, starting the car and watching Stiles put on his seat belt. “No, you know I’m not a big fan of guilt. The way I look at it, we only bait the trap. It’s not our fault if people like that are stupid enough to get caught in it.”


End file.
